Sunday, December 30, 2018

In March 1517, three ships carrying approximately a hundred Spanish fighting men sailed westward along the Yucatan Peninsula. Francisco Hernandez de Cordoba was the leader of the expedition and the chief navigator was Anton de Alaminos. In the middle of the month (around March 20), the Spaniards spotted a sizable native town called Campeche, which was located on a small bay. The explorers decided to anchor two of their trio of ships three miles out to sea, then they packed their full force of fighters into the smallest ship and loaded any stragglers onto accompanying rowboats. The Spaniards sailed this way into the bay and made landfall near a freshwater pool that was not far from the native town. They were equipped with all of their weapons and armor—the explorers had suffered an ambush by natives earlier that month and did not want to be caught off guard again.

When the Spaniards touched ground, the first thing they did was fill up their water casks in the nearby pool. While they were accomplishing the task, a delegation of about 50 well-dressed natives from the town of Campeche came out to meet with the foreigners. On this particular expedition, the Spaniards had no interpreters, so the two cultures did their best to communicate with signals and hand gestures. The natives pointed toward their town in a welcoming way, which the Spaniards took as an invitation to tour Campeche. The native delegates led the explorers (who were still well-armed) into town, and, to the credit of both peoples, peace was maintained.

Even though the occasion was peaceful, the atmosphere could not have been more tense. Bernal Díaz del Castillo was one of the Spaniards who entered the town. He was in his mid-twenties and this was his first expedition on land that was unconquered by the Spanish. Bernal Díaz would later write a history about his experiences in the so-called New Spain, including what happened when the Spaniards entered Campeche.

According to Bernal Díaz, the natives of the town were unafraid and confident. Despite the presence of the Spanish adventurers, local men and women wandered the streets as if it were any other day. Even so, the warriors of Campeche were mustered and armed with spears, bows and slings and keep an eye on the newcomers. The band of approximately one hundred Spaniards, with their swords, crossbows and muskets, could likely have defeated the town’s garrison, or at least have fought their way to safety, but the inevitable high casualties from such a battle was something this particular band of explorers wanted to avoid—the crew had already suffered at least thirteen casualties from the ambush that occurred earlier that month.

The Spaniards were ushered by their native guides and the local warriors to a temple in Campeche. From the temple came ten natives who wore long cloth garments that reached down to their feet. They had long hair that was covered in a red substance that reminded Bernal Díaz of blood. Although the Spaniards could not understand the local language, they judged from the aura of authority commanded by the ten figures that these men were leaders of the native community.

The ten leaders called for their people to bring dried reeds and other flammable materials to a position near the temple. From these supplies, pyres were formed. Using signals and gestures, the leaders of Campeche warned the Spaniards that their presence in the city would only be welcome as long as the pyres were alight—once they burned out, the warriors of Campeche would attack. After the warning was given, the pyres were lit and the ten native leaders withdrew to their temple without any further conversation.

Under the time restraint, the Spaniards did not have long to tour the town. Bernal Díaz spent his time people-watching and also took a peek into the temple. It was built from masonry, which he judged to be of fine quality. Inside, the walls were decorated with depictions of local gods and mythological creatures. There was also a symbol-covered altar that was recently stained with a disquieting substance, which Bernal Díaz believed again to be blood.

Unfortunately, even though there was still so much to see in Campeche, the pyres were beginning to burn low and the native warriors started to shout war cries. Not wanting to overstay their welcome, the Spaniards quickly withdrew from the town and marched for the coast. The explorers did not want to embark on their ships too close to Campeche, so they marched along the coast toward a large rock landmark and signaled for their ships to follow. Once safely away from the native town, the Spaniards embarked on their ships and continued their journey, without any blood being spilled.

Unfortunately for the Spaniards, the rest of their journey would not be so peaceful. Bernal Díaz estimated that by the end of the 1517 expedition, virtually all of the adventurers were injured and more than half were dead. Of course, Bernal Díaz was not among the deceased. Instead, he would survive to participate in other famous expeditions, including that of the famous conquistador, Hernán Cortés.

Thursday, December 27, 2018

Sidonius Apollinaris was no ordinary clergyman. Born around the year 430, the future saint was descended from a family of Gallo-Roman nobility. Like the silver-tongued scholars of ancient Rome, Sidonius Apollinaris exploited his skill in poetry for political gain. He married well, achieving in year 452 a marriage to Papianilla, the daughter of Emperor Avitus. Although it was a prestigious marriage, Sidonius Apollinaris was not able to benefit from his father-in-law’s power for very long—Emperor Avitus had a very short reign, only ruling from 455-456. Sidonius Apollinaris spent the next decade or more dabbling in politics, supporting some Roman and Visigothic leaders, while helping organize resistance against others. Around 469 or 470, he was elected (reportedly against his will) as the bishop of Clermont-Ferrand, in the region of Auvergne.

Unfortunately for Sidonius Apolinaris, he came to power just as King Euric of the Visigoths was claiming large swaths of Roman Gaul and Spain for the Visigoth people. Auvergne fell to the Kingdom of Visigoths in 475 and Sidonius Apollinaris was momentarily imprisoned—he had publicly supported Euric’s rival. Thankfully, Sidonius Apollinaris was forgiven and released from prison by 476. Upon release, he resumed his role as bishop of Clermont-Ferrand and cultivated a saintly reputation. In particular, his he was known for having a tremendous drive to help the poor and to give charity to those in need.

While most people judged Sidonius Apollinaris’ charity work as saintly, one woman was reportedly extremely annoyed by the saint’s endless giving. The woman in question was none other than the saint’s own wife, Pampianilla, daughter of the late Emperor Avitus. Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594) recorded a story about Sidonius Apollinaris that perfectly captured the exasperating relationship between the saint and his wife.

In the account given by Gregory of Tours, Sidonius Apollinaris comes across as a man who donated alms to the poor as freely as if he was scattering feed to wild birds—handfuls of silver at a time, strewn in all directions.According to Gregory of Tours (History of the Franks, Book II, section 22), Sidonius Apollinaris did not use church tithes for this charity work, but instead handed out his own silver cutlery, plates and goblets to the poor. His wife, Pampianilla, was understandably quite perturbed when she kept opening her cupboards to find all of her precious tableware missing. As the story goes, Pampianilla would give Sidonius Apollinaris no small amount of grief over the missing silver. Always the dutiful husband, the chastised saint would track down each and every missing piece and buy them back from the poor at a very generous price. According to Gregory of Tours, the cycle of Sidonius Apollinaris handing out his silverware to the needy, then buying it back with a hefty sum was a frequent cycle, which annoyed his wife to no end.

The charity work of Sidonius Apollinaris, as well his masterful application of his poetic eloquence to his sermons, gained the bishop a great reputation. He died around 480 and was quickly recognized as a saint by his peers.

Wednesday, December 26, 2018

According to Norse myth, or at least to the tradition that was handed down to the Icelandic chief, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), the high god of the Scandinavian pantheon, Odin, had a very odd ancestry. Although Odin was called the All-Father, and was said to be a builder of worlds and humankind, Norse myth told that there was also life and land before the birth of Odin. As the story goes, inhospitable realms such as blazing Muspelheim and cold, dark Niflheim came into being long before the advent of Odin. Between the two realms was a great void, called Ginnungagap, where heat and cold met. Ice from Niflheim encountered the warmth of Muspelheim, causing the ice to melt into a primordial soup. From the slush came the first giant, Ymir, as well as a great primeval cow, called Audhumla. The colossal cow was so large that from her udders poured four rivers of milk, which nourished Ymir and his descendants.

While Ymir was bizarrely spawning new giants from sweat on his arms and legs, Audhumla spent her time licking at a salty block of ice. The ice, however, was hiding a nasty surprise—after an unknown amount of time, hair emerged. As the cow kept licking the ice, a whole humanoid head began to appear. Finally, after three days of laborious licking, Audhmula excavated a living person from the ice—it was Buri, Odin’s grandfather.

Buri had a son named Bor with an unnamed woman, and Bor married a giantess named Bestla, daughter of Bolthorn the giant. From Bor and Bestla was born Odin, as well as two other sons. Unfortunately for those living at that time, Odin and all who would follow him detested the giants. Odin and the sons of Bor eventually slew the first giant, Ymir, and butchered his body. They filled the void, Ginnungagap, with Ymir’s blood, flesh and bones, creating from it the seas and continents of Midgard (Middle Earth). In their newly constructed realm, Odin and his brothers encountered the first trees, and from that wood they were said to have fashioned the first humans.

Tuesday, December 25, 2018

Vespasian had a peculiar path to the throne. It all began when a rebellion broke out against Emperor Nero in March of the year 68, and by June, the emperor committed suicide. Galba, the leader of the rebellion, became emperor that same June, but was overthrown by Otho in a coup in January, of year 69. The new emperor, in turn, was challenged by Vitellius, the governor of Lower Germany, and Otho ultimately committed suicide in April, still in the year 69. Yet, on July 1 (still 69), Vespasian, the Roman general in charge of suppressing the ongoing revolt in Judea, declared himself to be the rightful emperor—the fourth and final emperor of the year. By December 20 or 21, year 69, Vespasian’s troops tortured and killed Vitellius, then reportedly threw the corpse in the Tiber River. It was a chaotic time, indeed, but if some interesting rumors are true, Vespasian had been in stranger situations. According to the Roman biographer, Suetonius (c. 70-130+), Vespasian had ample experience with odd encounters—especially with animals in his dining room.

In his book, The Twelve Caesars, Suetonius wrote that animals would randomly pad their way into Vespasian’s home to cause mischief. On one occasion, the future emperor was innocently eating breakfast in his house, when a stray dog barged in and quickly scampered under the table where Vespasian was eating. The dog was carrying something in its mouth, but the animal was moving too fast for the future emperor to clearly see the object. The dog did not stay long—it dropped off whatever it was carrying onto the floor and then bolted out the door. Feeling curious, Vespasian peeked under the table to see what the dog had left behind. The object he saw was not a thing dogs are usually known to tote around. No stick, ball, bone, or even a rodent, was left behind by the stray. Instead, the dog had eerily dropped a severed human hand by Vespasian’s feet—hopefully, the future emperor had already finished his breakfast.

On another day, Vespasian was in his dining room at an undisclosed time. It was apparently the season to plow the fields, for Suetonius claimed an ox broke free from its yoke and, of course, charged straight for Vespasian’s house. Playing the part of the proverbial bull in the china shop, the rampaging ox crashed into the home, sending pottery and servants flying in all directions. The ox chased the servants into the dining room, where Vespasian was still lounging. It was a chaotic sight for the future emperor, yet it had an odd ending. The plowing of the fields and the small rampage must have been exhausting for the ox, because it collapsed at Vespasian’s feet without doing any more damage.

After allegedly living through alleged experiences such as these, perhaps Vespasian learned to simply go with the flow of events. Nevertheless, whereas Vespasian’s victory in the so-called Year of the Four Emperors is grounded in historical fact, the tales of his odd animal encounters were likely bits of rumor and legend that Suetonius decided to include in his book. Whatever the case, they are good stories that have value, if only for the sake of entertainment.

Sunday, December 23, 2018

Queen Clotilde was no stranger to political intrigue and bloodshed, even before she married King Clovis (r. 481-511/513), the warlord who spread Frankish power to encompass most of France. Before becoming queen of the Franks, Clotilde was a princess of Burgundy. She was the granddaughter of King Gundioc of the Burgundians. Upon the old Burgundian ruler’s death, the lands of Burgundy were split between Gundioc’s four sons: Chilperic (Clotilde’s father), Gundomar, Godigisel and Gundobad. Such inheritance practices were fairly common at the time, and old King Gundioc likely knew there would be some inevitable political tension between the brothers. Yet, he might have changed his mind if he could have foreseen just how bloody the conflict between the brothers would become.

The relationship between the rival brothers in Burgundy was hostile, to say the least. By the time Clotilde had married Clovis in 493, she was already orphaned by the savage intrigue of Burgundian politics. In a ruthless power grab, Clotilde’s uncle, Gundobad, killed Clotilde’s mother and father. Chilperic, Clotilde’s father, was apparently killed or executed in a way too common to be worth recording in detail. Clotilda’s mother, however, was reportedly attached to a heavy stone and then left to drown in a river. Unfortunately, Chipleric was not the only son of Gundioc to be knocked out of politics early—his brother, Gundomar, also fell from prominence. Gundomar’s fate is uncertain, but his brothers had absorbed his lands before the beginning of the 6th century.

By the year 500, only two of the original four sons of Gundioc remained—Gundobad and Godigisel—and the warfare between brothers was still ongoing. That year, Clotilde’s husband, Clovis, was pulled into the war between her Burgundian uncles. Godigisel allegedly promised to pay tribute to King Clovis if the Franks would help him kill Gundobad. Clovis accepted the offer and marched his troops to the vicinity of Dijon, arranging his forces near the Ouche River, where he and Godigisel launched a surprise attack on Gundobad. The startled brother reportedly lost a significant amount of soldiers in the assault, but he was able to withdraw to the city of Avignon. After the battle near the Ouche River, Godigisel returned home. Clovis and the Franks, however, continued in their pursuit of Gundobad all the way to the stronghold of Avignon. There, Gundobad put up such a stout resistance that Clovis eventually agreed to withdraw from Burgundy in exchange for a promise of annual tribute payments (a promise that Gundobad reportedly had no intention to keep).

After the Franks withdrew, it was not long before Gundobad recovered his military strength, and began plotting against his brother with renewed energy. He had killed a brother at least once before, and now he was irate enough to slay another. Gundobad mustered his forces and besieged his last remaining brother in the city of Vienne, France. Before long, he forced his way into the city and sent his troops scouring the streets and structures for signs of his brother. As the story goes, Godigisel was found and slaughtered in a local church.

With the death of Godigisel, the whole of Burgundy was claimed by King Gundobad, who continued to rule until his death in 516. Ironically, even though he killed at least two of his own brothers, he gained a reputation as a lawgiver, developing two codes of law for his kingdom—the Lex Gundobada and the Lex Romana Burgundionum. He also curiously followed the example of his niece, Clotilde, and converted (albeit covertly) to the Roman version of Christianity, as opposed to the Arian interpretation (non-Trinitarian) that was popular among many Frankish, Goth and Burgundian people during his time. Gundobad’s laws and acceptance of the Roman orthodoxy led many contemporary clergymen to forgive his bloody path to power. The king even became a close acquaintance of Saint Avitus.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image from "History of France from the reign of Clovis, 481 A.D., to the signing of the armistice, November, 1918" (1919), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and Flickr).

Sources:

The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

Wednesday, December 19, 2018

Emperor Gaozu and Empress Lü, the first royal couple in charge of the Han Dynasty, were a very formidable and competent pair. After Gaozu’s death in 195 BCE, Empress Lü showed her prowess by continuing to administer the empire (through her son, Emperor Hui, and other puppet rulers) until her own death on August 18, 180 BCE. Although Empress Lü had been a powerful asset to Emperor Gaozu while he lived, Empress Lü quickly became a hindrance to the emperor’s imperial Liu clan when she was left to rule on her own. Of the emperor’s eight sons, Empress Lü was only the mother of one (Emperor Hui), and she showed little-to-no maternal care for her seven pseudo-step-sons—in fact, she had one or two of them killed. When Emperor Hui died young in 188 BCE, Empress Lü virtually broke off all her ties to the imperial Liu family and devoted the rest of her life to raising her own Lü family to a state of power that was equal to or greater than that of the imperial Liu clan.

When Empress Lü died on August 18, 180 BCE, she left the Lü clan in a remarkably strong position. She had appointed many Lü men to kingships and even created a new hereditary Kingdom of Lü. As for the kingdoms that were already ruled by Liu family monarchs, Empress Lü had a knack for winning over the ministers working under her rival kings. She also arranged for women of the Lü family to marry powerful men from the Liu clan. These Lü brides and their attendants reportedly acted as spies and informants, constantly writing to Empress Lü about the actions of their husbands. Last of all, she gave the Lü clan a firm foothold in the Chinese capital city, Chang’an—Empress Lü’s kinsman, Lü Lu, was appointed Supreme Commander of the Army, and the garrisons in the capital city were sworn to generals loyal to the Lü clan. This was the state in which Empress Lü left her clan at the time of her death in August, 180 BCE. It was a strong hand that the empress developed for her clan, but now her kinsmen would have to play their cards and win the game.

Unfortunately for the late Empress Lü, her clan proved to be totally incompetent and they folded in only a single month. The Liu kings and pro-Liu ministers who had long been oppressed and outsmarted by Empress Lü did not wait long to strike at the late empress’ legacy. By early September, King Ai of Qi (Gaozu’s grandson) was mobilizing a revolt. King Ai’s pro-Lü prime minister, a man named Shao Ping, discovered the king’s plot around September 12 and preemptively besieged the palace of Qi. Nevertheless, in a scene that would keep repeating for Lü officials, Prime Minister Shao Ping proved to be a poor judge of allegiance. After he had surrounded King Ai in the palace, Prime Minister Shao Ping incredibly was convinced to hand over control of the troops to another officer named Wei Bo. Unfortunately for Shao Ping, Wei Bo was firmly on the side of the Liu faction and therefore promptly lifted the siege of the king’s palace. Wei Bo and King Ai arrested and executed Shao Ping, then proceeded with their rebellion.

When the Lü leaders in Chang’an heard of the growing rebellion, they dispatched an army under the command of Guan Ying to crush the rebel forces. Once again, however, the Lü administration was a poor judge of character. Guan Ying, indeed, led his forces out of the capital. Yet, when his troops were in the field, Guan Ying made a pact with the rebel leaders and refused to fight against the rebellion.

By September 26, 180 BCE, the Lü leadership in Chang’an was in a panic. Lü Chan, commander of the southern garrison had withdrawn into the capital’s palace and Lü Lu, the Supreme Commander of the Army and general of the northern garrison, was unsure how to respond to the rebellion. Sensing his indecisiveness, various pro-Liu ministers and advisors in Chang’an preyed upon Lü Lu. In particular, the Supreme Commander was influenced by a man named Li Ji, who apparently convinced Lü Lu that his life would be spared if he resigned from his military posts. Unbelievably, Lü Lu agreed to the suggestion and handed over his general’s seal to the grand commandant, Zhou Bo, giving the man control of the northern garrison and promoting him to the rank of Supreme Commander of the Army. Unfortunately for the Lü clan, Zhou Bo was a ruthless supporter of the Liu faction. Although Lü Lu was hoping for mercy, his decision to relinquish power ensured the bloody downfall of his clan.

Zhou Bo immediately rallied the forces of Chang’an to the Liu side when he received command on September 26, 180 BCE. There was, however, a slight obstacle—the southern garrison was still technically controlled by Lü Chan, who had earlier fled to the palace. Zhou Bo solved the problem by sending assassins to the palace, who murdered Lü Chan, as well as the colonel of the palace guards. After seizing control of the southern garrison, Zhou Bo then spent the next several days hunting down and executing all of the powerful members of the Lü clan. After the slaughter, Emperor Wen (Gaozu’s oldest living son) assumed the imperial throne. The historian, Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE) described the massacre that took place to clear the way for the new emperor:

“Then he [Zhou Bo] divided his men into groups and sent them out to arrest the men and women of the Lü family and, without distinction of age or youth, to behead them all. On the following day, xinyu (27 Sept.), he arrested and beheaded Lü Lu and had the empress dowager’s sister, Lü Xu, beaten to death. He also dispatched men to execute Lü Dong, the king of Yan, and remove Zhang Yan, the king of Lu, from his position.”

Tuesday, December 18, 2018

Snefru (flourished 26th century BCE), the inaugural king of the 4th Dynasty in Egypt, was not the first Egyptian ruler to build a pyramid (that honor went to Djoser), nor was he the king to build the largest pyramid (that record was claimed by his son, Khufu). Yet, Snefru surpassed his predecessors and successors in another aspect of pyramid building—quantity. He is credited with constructing three large pyramids and possibly several of the so-called Seven Small Pyramids.

Although Snefru did not create the first pyramid in Egypt, he revolutionized the design of the structures by building the first “true” pyramid. It may have been that very ambition to build a perfect smooth-sided pyramid shape (as opposed to the step-pyramids of his predecessors) that drove the king to produce so many monumental works. Snefru’s pyramids are fascinating, as they show the trial and error that his engineers faced until they finally nailed down a formula for a true pyramid.

The pyramid at Meidum was the first iteration of Snefru’s new vision. It was actually a hybrid of the old way of pyramid building and the revolutionary design that the king wanted to implement. It started out as a seven-step pyramid, but Snefru filled in the steps, encasing the original structure under a smooth-sloped façade. Yet, the hybrid approach turned out to be a disaster. In the end, the outer covering crumbled, revealing the original shape underneath. Even as a step pyramid, the Meidum project did not hold up well against time—only three of the seven original steps remain intact. Many believe that the outer façade of the Meidum pyramid collapsed during Snefru’s lifetime, prompting him to abandon the site and start anew in another location.

Snefru’s next two large pyramids were built in the region of Dashür. There, he ignored any further hybrid designs and instead committed to a true pyramid shape from day one of construction. Snefru’s first pyramid in Dashür began with sides that sloped at approximately a 55-degree angle. Yet, to the king’s dismay, something went wrong—according to some theories, engineers discovered that the pyramid was leaning, while another version suggests the that the angle of the pyramid threatened to collapse the structure. Whatever the case, engineers were forced to change the angle of the slopes to 43-degrees in the middle of construction. The pyramid was completed, but the result of the two different degrees created an odd shape. It came to be known as the Bent or Blunt Pyramid, which obviously would not please a perfectionist king.

Not a man to give up, Snefru began work on a third large pyramid. It was planned to have the same 43-degree slope that his engineers had used to finish the previous project. Yet, this one, if all went well, would hopefully remain uniform and consistent from base to capstone. To Snefru’s great relief, his second pyramid in Dashür, known as the Red Pyramid, was completed without any changes or readjustment, creating the first true pyramid in Egypt.

In addition to the three large pyramids that were constructed by Snefru, he is thought to have also built one or more of the so-called Seven Small Pyramids along the Nile. Among the seven, the Seila Pyramid has several references to Snefru, making him the likely patron of the project. It is also probable that Snefru had a hand in the Edfu Pyramid. The financiers of the final five small pyramids are still under debate, but Snefru’s name often comes up in the conversation. Regardless, Snefru is believed to have been the most prolific pyramid builder of Egypt.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Detail of King Snefru from his funerary temple of Dahshur now on the main facade of the Egyptian Museum, Cairo, photographed by Juan Lazaro, licensed 2.0 Creative Commons (CC 2.0)).

Monday, December 17, 2018

Domitian ruled the Roman Empire from after the death of his brother Titus in the year 81, until the year 96, when a group of fearful conspirators had him assassinated. Domitian’s character remains difficult to assess—his reign was undoubtedly filled with heightened authoritarianism and executions, yet the cause and effect is debatable. Did Domitian’s oppression of the Senate and further centralization of government cause Senators to conspire against him, or did corruption and plotting among the ruthless members of the Senate spur on Domitian to brutally rein in the Senatorial class? Whatever the case, Domitian and the Roman elites were at odds and it did not help his reputation that the great contemporary writers of his age, such as Tacitus and Pliny the Younger, were his bitter enemies. Interestingly, the most positive account of Domitian arguably came from the biographer, Suetonius, who usually had few good words for most of the emperors after Augustus.

In The Twelve Caesars, Suetonius ended the work with a section on Domitian—it was very critical of the emperor (unsurprisingly, as Suetonius was Pliny’s protégé), but he did praise a few of Domitian’s policies. The biographer looked in favor on Domitian’s efforts to rebuild Rome and to refill its libraries after the damage caused to the city during the fire of year 80. Suetonius also mentioned that the emperor prohibited barbaric practices such as castration, and actively sought to end corruption among magistrates and governors (likely a reason as to why the senators detested him).

Suetonius also commented on Domitian’s academic interests. During the reigns of his father (Vespasian) and brother (Titus), Domitian apparently was enthusiastic about literature and poetry. Yet, when he became emperor in 81, he seemed to have little time to devote to writing, or otherwise thought being an author was an unnecessary distraction. Nevertheless, he reportedly tried to revive interest in the arts during his reign by funding competitions of rhetoric and music.

Despite his eventual withdrawal from writing, Emperor Domitian is known to have produced one book—De cura capillorum, a manual on hair maintenance and care. It was an ironic book, because Domitian was reportedly bald, but a fragment that survives from the text—“Yet my hair will go the same way, and I am resigned to having an old man’s head before my time”— suggests he may have written the piece before he completely lost his hair (Suetonius, Domitian, section 18). Although Domitian reportedly was sensitive about his baldness, his book on hair was allegedly witty and humorous. Unfortunately, the text is lost except for its catchy title (Care of the Hair) and two small fragments that were preserved by Suetonius.